Death of a Hot Chick

by Norma Huss

  “You mean your pump won’t get rid of the water?”

  “Not now, with the deck and the open door under water.”

  “Oh.” Before I could kick herself for stupidity, I realized what Gregory wasn’t saying. “But when the tide goes out, a lot of that water will go out with it. Then we start pumping, right?”

  “Your keel is probably stuck in the mud right now, which may be all that’s keeping the boat upright. When the tide goes out, your boat is going to heel. Fortunately, this slip is relatively narrow, so that might help.”

  I listened intently, although I realized Gregory was merely crystallizing his ideas.

  “Floatation,” he muttered.

  “The weight might squash any floatation,” I said, although Gregory wasn’t listening to me.

  “Tide turned....” Gregory checked his watch. “High tide twenty minutes ago. Give it a couple of hours.” His voice strengthened as he turned to me. “They said the seacocks were open, right?”

  “Slim closed them. He might not have gotten them all. The diver refused to go in to check.”

  “Got the rest of my gear in the car,” he said. When he returned he had his SCUBA suit and an oxygen tank. “Hoping I don’t need the oxygen, just a snorkel,” he said.

  ~ ~

  Gregory had closed two more seacocks before he left. I hoped that was all. Had I ever seen a schismatic of the boat pinpointing all that stuff? Not that I remembered. All so much papier-mâché now. But my clothes could be washed.

  I didn’t have a mask, a snorkel, and definitely not a wet suit, but what could happen inside a boat filled with water? The electricity was disconnected. Things might be floating, but I still had eyes. I took my shoes off, placed my cell phone in one and my watch as well as the two plastic bags with Nicole’s washed out note and a strand of her hair in the other. I stepped down onto Snapdragon.

  Carefully I worked my way inside, where the floor was too far down for wading. The water had leveled off about three feet below the salon ceiling. I floated on my back and looked up. It all reminded me of a game I’d played as a child. Hold a big mirror, look down into the reflected ceiling. How different it looked from the usual scene: door openings were huge steps instead of a flat, narrow gap, the only obstacles were hanging light fixtures instead of furniture. And giggling sisters could only be heard and not seen.

  I kicked myself forward and grasped a grab rail. I rolled over and ducked under the door opening to reach the V-berth. That’s where I found three floating plastic dishes that I’d left on the galley counter. One held the remaining banana.

  Over-ripe, but breakfast. Or, was it now lunch time? I stood on the berth while I peeled and devoured the banana. I put the skin back in the floating bowl and gently pushed it back into the salon and up on top of a cabinet. I went back to my survey.

  My clothes had been piled on the V-berth. I ducked under and grabbed a pile of something, then back-pedaled until I reached the stairs leading to the broken door. I stood at the step leading down, checking the armful. Yes, all were mine. I piled them on top the cabinet and returned for another armful. When I’d cleaned off the berth, I ferried the lot out the door and placed clothes and the dish with the banana peel on the cabin roof.

  Could the one pair of shoes on board be dried out? I went below, dived to the bottom of the salon, looked through murky water. Not there. Where had I left them? I couldn’t find them, so I went into the head.

  Wow, my bucket of toiletries was above water! Toothbrush, blow drier, the works in a plastic bucket on top of another shelf. And there was my wallet as well. I’d forgotten where I’d left it. I snatched the bucket and held it above water while I headed out the door.

  Had the boat listed, just a bit? I moved everything off Snapdragon’s roof and put it all on the finger pier. Could the lines hold the boat if she started to list?

  Kaye and Lizzie arrived while I was retying my last line from the under-water cleat to a piling.

  “You think that’s going to help?” Kaye asked.

  “Maybe,” I answered.

  Kaye eyed the small pile of my belongings between them. “You’ve been inside. Do you think that was safe?”

  “I’m out, aren’t I?” I stepped off the boat onto the finger pier. “And before you say anything else, two others went in there first and came out alive, so it’s not like I foolishly risked my life or anything.” I turned away from my sister. “Hi, Lizzie. How was your night on land?”

  “I told her it’s still not safe on her boat,” Kaye said before Lizzie could answer.

  “Yeah, and you told me I’d get killed if I stayed aboard last night.”

  But Kaye turned her attention to me. “Look at you. Positively filthy and soaking wet. What kind of germs and muck did you pick up?” Suddenly she picked up the plastic dish. “You saved a banana peel?”

  “Nope, I ate a banana. And I don’t throw garbage into Chesapeake Bay.” I stared at Kaye, waiting for her to demand more, to know if the banana had been contaminated by muddy water, where I’d found my clothes, and any of a number of other questions.

  However, after a range of emotions played across her face, Kaye said, “Glad to know you’re a responsible citizen. Now, will you please tell Lizzie she won’t be safe on the boat?”

  “You think I need somebody to protect me?” Lizzie asked.

  “Of course.”

  Lizzie turned to me. “How about you, Cyd?” When I did no more than glower at my sister, Lizzie continued. “How about Cyd staying with me tonight. She’s got nowhere else to go. Right?”

  “Right. Good idea,” I said, like that hadn’t been my plan all along. “Now I’m taking a shower.”

  “Where?” Kaye asked.

  “Hey, this marina is old, but it still has all the usual facilities.”

  “But you have no dry clothes, not even a towel,” Kaye said.

  “True. But I have a blow drier.”

  “I’m real sorry about what happened to your boat,” Lizzie said. “I better take a look-see at my boat.”

  As we watched her leave, Kaye said, “I got an interesting call from Vivian this morning. You remember Vivian. From the Joline Foundation meeting we attended. She tells me they just got a fifty thousand dollar donation from Arthur Estep.”

  “As in the Arthur Estep also known—”

  “As Pop,” Kaye finished. “I figure he’s paying off Mr. Joline for Nicole’s boat.”

  “Oh.” Had the money changed hands before or after the boat sank? Or, I might as well wonder, had the money changed hands before or after Pop got out of jail? Did he get out today? I’d heard today, July thirty-first, mentioned, but was that his last day in or his first day out? Either way, not good. “So, where does that leave me and Snapdragon?”

  “That is the question,” Kaye said.

  Chapter 24

  Gregory’s pump was noisy, so when it stopped, I looked up from the bow where I was trying to clean mud away.

  “Damn,” Gregory said.

  “What happened?”

  “Sure hope it’s not broken.” He pushed a button, which didn’t restart the pump. “Maybe the engine overheated.”

  “That means it will start again?” I asked. “But Snapdragon is floating now.”

  “Barely.” He sat back. Shook his head, then pulled the plug out of the socket. “Better to get more water out to be safe. I’ll let this thing cool for a while, then try again.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll go clean up a bit,” Gregory said and headed for the marina shower room. I headed forward to my bucket of formerly clean water.

  I’d just reached the bow when I heard, “Are you the owner of this boat?”

  The man who stood on the finger pier was in his fifties, maybe his late forties. Lots of dark hair, cut short. Dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a tan bomber jacket, despite the heat of the day. A pair of heavy-framed glasses, the big kind that went out of style a few years ago.

  “Yes,” I said.

>   “I’m Arthur Estep.”

  Right. Pop. The crook just out of jail. Could he hide a gun in that jacket pocket? Maybe under the jacket, behind, tucked into his waistband. Despite a suddenly pounding heart, I answered his question firmly. “Yes, I own Snapdragon. My title is registered and in a safe-deposit box.” I bit my lip as I turned back to my bucket of water and scrub brush. Would I hear a gunshot before the bullet passed through my head? I didn’t look up when I heard another voice, even though I recognized it. Slim.

  He said, “Hey, Pop. Good seeing you. How’s things?”

  Slim knew Pop? They were friends? I scrubbed vigorously at a resistant smear.

  “Could be better. Could be worse, right?”

  “Yeah, you’re out. But your little boat didn’t wait for you. That Chester, he’s sorta fickle that way. Ain’t a good what they call steward of your property. You know, keeping things safe for you.”

  “I’m finding that out Slim. You know this gal?”

  I froze in place. Then I sneaked a peek under my armpit. I saw Slim nod.

  “Introduce us,” Pop said.

  I sat back on my heels, then turned around.

  Slim said, “Sure. This here is Cyd Denlinger.” He lowered his hand and flattened it. “I know her since she was yea-high. Cyd, this here is Art Estep. Lots of his friends call him Pop.”

  Pop chuckled. “Not only my friends,” he added.

  “Hello, Mr. Estep,” I said, then wondered. Would that take me out of both the friends and enemies category? But I knew why he was here. Might as well get it out in the open. “I understand you once owned Snapdragon.”

  Pop took the guard rail and moved the boat a bit. “She’s floating. I heard the boat was on the bottom.”

  “Once the tide went down my friend Gregory brought a pump and started pumping. Just a few minutes ago the pump either overheated or broke down. He hopes it just overheated. He’ll be back.”

  Pop nodded, then ignored me completely. He looked at Slim and thrust a thumb at Snapdragon. “Any ideas?” he said.

  “I’m just thinking, sorta wondering why a fool would sink her just before you get home. That’s all. Nope. No ideas at all.” But Slim grinned when Pop scowled and nodded.

  They’d come to a conclusion, and I knew what it was. Trying for innocence, I said, “I understand a Chester Foltz owned Snapdragon between you and Nicole Joline, the owner before me.” I didn’t mention that he’d been hovering over the boat, trying to get inside by any means. Nor did I mention that he probably broke in once.

  Pop turned to me, his scowl changing to a smile that actually looked sincere. He asked, “What conditions did you find in the boat?”

  “Ah... Pretty messy. She needed cleaning. I’d gotten her in pretty good shape, but now...now she’s worse than before. Muddy.”

  “Did you remove anything from the boat,” he asked, in a honey-coated voice.

  “My clothes. Toothbrush, hair drier. Banana. I ate that.”

  “Anything else?”

  Somehow, I knew he wasn’t referring to my possessions. “That plastic bowl. It had the banana in it. Just the peel now.”

  He turned to Slim, who nodded confidently. He reached his hand into a hip pocket. I tensed, but he brought out a wallet. As he opened it, he said, “I’m going to buy your boat. As is. I’ll pay twenty thousand over book price.” He pulled out some bills. “This is earnest money.” He handed me four bills. “Two for you and two for your friend’s work and any needed repairs to his pump.”

  The bills were hundreds. “Ah...”

  “Anything left inside that’s yours?”

  I looked at the bills in my hand. Two hundred dollars for each of them. “Shoes. Food, but that’s spoiled.” I couldn’t think. “A book. But that’s spoiled too. A jacket.” I hadn’t brought much to the boat. I’d stored belongings in hopes of finding something more permanent. “Damn. My class books are in there, and they’re shot to hell.” Plus, my graduation certificate. Could I get another? I did have the wallet card in my billfold.

  “Anything of yours we find, you’ll get back. Everything else goes with the boat. We’ll meet tomorrow at my lawyer’s to finish the sale and transfer the title. Bring a witness.”

  “Ah...”

  “You have a telephone? Or one of those cell phones?” I nodded. Pop said, “You will sell, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll need your phone number.” He reached into his jacket pocket. This time he brought out a small notebook and a pen. “The number?”

  I told him. He scribbled in his notebook.

  “It’s been rewarding dealing with you Ms. Denlinger. I’m sure our dealings tomorrow will be equally rewarding.”

  And he left.

  I watched him disappear, heard his car purr to life, and stood, mouth open, until I could hear it no more. I couldn’t say a word.

  “You’re coming up aces,” Slim said. “I was some afeared. That’s why I come quick as I heard. I was still feared when I seen him.”

  I spread the bills in my fingers. How come this guy who just got out of jail was handing out one hundred dollar bills? And, according to Kaye, handing out thousands as well. How did he know who had Snapdragon and where I was? Why did he want to buy a sunken boat? Was that rumor about hidden loot true? Had to be.

  Slim said, “Guess ten years in the slammer calmed him down a tad.”

  That was calm? That was barely suppressed fury. And what about Slim? He was no crook. “I guess you know him,” I said. Somehow, I couldn’t ask any more.

  “Well, some.”

  Smith Harbor’s most famous ex-con sure knew Slim. Not only knew him, but took his word on everything. I had to wonder. Why?

  ~ ~

  How much was twenty thousand over the going price for a lobster trawler? I had two hundred in cash, another two hundred for Gregory, a bunch of wet clothes, and nowhere to go. So what did I do? I dialed Kaye.

  Who didn’t answer.

  Without Snapdragon to worry about, I had other problems. Dirty clothes to clean, and Gregory’s waiting-to-cool-off pump to watch over. Biggie—a nagging ghost who wanted a murder solved. Oh yeah, a banana peel to toss. I walked to the Dumpster and took care of that. As I headed back, Gregory arrived.

  “Hey, let’s start....”

  “Pop was here,” I said and pulled the bills out of my pocket. “Two for you and two for me. Yours are for your time and any repairs the pump might need. Mine....”

  “What?”

  “Pop wants to buy Snapdragon. As is. Tomorrow. My two hundred is earnest money, he said.”

  Gregory took the bills, stared at them. “Two hundred dollars?”

  “So, we’re done here. At least, I’m not going to do any more until I’m sure. Can a person trust a mobster?”

  He mumbled something under his breath. He thought a bit, then made up his mind. “I’ll run this pump over to the shop. Get it checked out. I’ll need a new one if this is done for. I sure don’t want a pump that conks out with customers on board.” He grabbed his pump and headed for his truck.

  One problem solved. I picked up a muddy shirt and shook it. Could I wash my clothes at the marina head? Without soap? I gathered them all, but I didn’t go far. A team with huge pumps arrived.

  “This a lobster trawler named Snapdragon?” one guy asked. When I nodded, he said, “Mind moving, Ma’am? We need to put our equipment on that finger pier.”

  Okay, was I ready to trust a mobster? Pop said he’d buy the boat, gave me two hundred dollars, but I still had the title. “You know, officially, this is still my boat, and this is my finger pier,” I said.

  “Okay, lady,” the men said. Another guy started talking on his cell phone, but too quietly for me to hear. I knew what would happen.

  Gregory came back from his truck. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “I think we’re waiting,” I said.

  “For what? Or should I say, who for?”

  My courage was taking a major
hit with three guys with their massive pumps staring me down, and the big one likely headed my way. I stared at nothing, working up any scrap of indignation I could find. I didn’t say a word. Gregory didn’t push. He sat on the dock box opposite Snapdragon’s slip.

  Fifteen minutes later, Pop arrived. “What’s the problem?” he asked me.

  I was ready. As calmly as possible, I said, “You asked Slim if you could trust me. I know you’re offering a great deal for a sunken boat, but I’d like to ask Slim if I can trust you.”

  Pop blinked. Stared. I nearly passed out. Then he started laughing. He laughed until tears came to his eyes. He laughed until he choked. After a bit he shook his head. “Best one I’ve heard since I went up,” he said. “Yeah, you run along and ask him. My guys here will wait.”

  “And Gregory will wait too,” I said, hoping I was right.

  Gregory nodded, but I knew he would want explanations later. Big time.

  I found Slim headed my way. “Heard he’s back,” he said. I didn’t stop to worry about how Slim knew these things.

  “He’s waiting with a crew to pump out the boat, but I’ve got to know. Can I trust him? I don’t know how, or why, but he trusts you. So tell me.”

  “I gotta look him in the eye,” Slim said.

  And that’s what Slim did. He walked up, said, “Hi Arthur.”

  “Slim,” Pop said with a nod.

  “Now this little Cyd gal, she be mighty dear to me. Like family, but more like a chile, instead of a sister, you understand?”

  “I understand, Slim.”

  “Cyd, he be doing right by you,” Slim said, then turned and left.

  And that was it. Something, was it family, had impressed them both. “Okay,” I said and gathered my muddy clothes.

  Pop said, “I have your telephone number. I’ll fix it with my lawyer and get back to you.”

  I didn’t trust myself to say more. I nodded, and walked off the finger pier with Gregory on my heels. We were hardly out of ear-shot when he said, “Now we get the explanations, right?”

  I took a gulp of fresh air and nodded again. Had I really done that? Stood up to the mobster everyone was afraid of?